The next morning, I gathered my "team" in the manor kitchen.
And by "team," I mean Lilith, Mister Fog, and Galrik—because apparently I have no self-preservation instincts when choosing accomplices.
I slapped a crude map of the city onto the table. "Alright, listen up. Operation: Humble the Horseman begins now."
Galrik leaned over the map. "This looks like a child drew it."
"It is a child’s map," I said. "I traded Jojo a bag of roasted chestnuts for it. Very detailed. Look, it even has the ’haunted bakery’ marked."
Mister Fog floated a few inches higher. "Do I want to know why our revenge plan involves the fish market, the tailor’s shop, and a guy named ’Explosive Tom’?"
"Yes. Because we’re hitting Blayzeon where it hurts—his perfect public image." I pointed to three spots on the map like a general plotting a war. "Phase one: ruin his outfit. Phase two: ruin his reputation. Phase three: ruin his horse."
Lilith’s grin was immediate. "I’m in."
Phase One: The Tailor Trap
Blayzeon had an appointment at the city’s most expensive tailor. We got there first.
Lilith posed as a frantic assistant claiming Blayzeon wanted "something more daring." The tailor, eager to please, altered the design... slightly.
When Blayzeon walked out later, he was wearing a magnificent, gold-stitched doublet. And also? It had strategically placed cut-outs.
By the time he realized, three gossip columnists had already sketched him.
Phase Two: The Reputation Ruin
We "accidentally" released fifty ducks into the training yard while Blayzeon was sparring.
"Why ducks?" Galrik asked as chaos erupted.
"Because geese are too obvious," I said.
The ducks chased him across the yard, quacking like an angry jury, while his squire tried to fend them off with a broom. Someone got it on a crystal recording.
By dinner, the city had a new nickname for him: Sir Quackzeon.
Phase Three: The Horse Incident
This one... I’ll admit, got away from me.
All we were supposed to do was sneak into the stables and braid the horse’s mane into something humiliating.
But Explosive Tom misunderstood the brief.
Fifteen minutes later, Blayzeon’s prized stallion was galloping down the street with glitter glued to its flanks and what looked like fireworks strapped to the saddle.
It was... majestic. And terrifying.
Lilith, watching from the rooftop, whispered, "You’ve outdone yourself."
"I know," I said, grinning—until a familiar voice behind us said:
"Cecil. You absolute idiot."
It was Yvra. And she did not look amused.
Yvra stood there on the rooftop like she had just teleported in from an entirely different league of patience. Arms crossed, gown immaculate, not a hair out of place—basically the complete opposite of me.
"Do you have any idea," she began, voice tight, "how much trouble you’ve caused in the last twenty-four hours?"
"Yes," I said. "And you’re welcome."
Her nostrils flared. "You humiliated a tailor, terrorized the royal training grounds with livestock, and—" she gestured vaguely toward the horizon "—turned my fiancé’s horse into a comet."
Lilith snorted. "A beautiful comet."
"This isn’t funny," Yvra snapped.
I leaned on the railing. "You’re just mad because it worked. Now everyone’s calling him Sir Quackzeon."
"That nickname will be forgotten in a week. But your behavior?" She jabbed a finger at me. "That’s forever. And it’s exactly why I left you."
Her words hit like a thrown dagger. I tried to deflect. "Oh please, you didn’t leave me because I’m petty. You left because you can’t handle—"
"—because you can’t stop making everything about you," she cut in. "It doesn’t matter if it’s a joust, a party, or a casual walk to the market—you have to turn it into a spectacle. You’re exhausting, Cecil. And I’m done letting you drag me into your orbit."
She turned to leave, but I couldn’t stop myself. "If I’m so exhausting, why are you still here telling me off?"
She froze for half a second—long enough for me to know I’d struck something—then walked away without another word.
I stood there in the awkward silence, feeling... not victorious. Not even smug. Just kind of like the ducks—loud, flapping, and unsure why I was even running anymore.
Lilith sidled up beside me. "So, how long before you challenge him to another duel?"
"Two days," I said automatically.
"Good," she said. "I’ll start prepping the fireworks."